Beware Greeks Bearing Fantasies
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: An acquaintance of Roarke's from old wants to come out of retirement. Follows 'You, Whom I Loved'.
1. Chapter 1

_A little touch of whimsy on two fronts. With luck this will be finished this week. Enjoy, and thanks to all my faithful reviewers, as always!_

* * *

§ § § -- March 24, 2000

By the time Christian's time on the island began winding down, he had completed most of the goals he'd set for himself in opening his new branch. Late in January he'd signed a lease agreement on an attractive storefront in Amberville's town square, and had been quite surprised when the building's owner suggested he redecorate the interior as he wished. When he told Leslie and Roarke over dinner that evening, they had agreed he'd had very good luck.

"So what color do you plan to paint?" Roarke had asked.

"What about a wallpaper border?" Leslie had put in before Christian could answer. "Something quiet, of course. My friends and I could get in and paint for you, too."

Christian, looking a little bombarded, glanced back and forth between them. "I never even thought of a color scheme," he admitted. "I guess I need some help there."

"It sounds to me as if you'll have no shortage of assistance, even if I refrain from contributing," Roarke observed, amused. "By all means, you two discuss it."

"What sort of colors would look good in the interior of an office like mine?" Christian wondered.

"What color's your office in Lilla Jordsö?" Leslie asked.

"White, I suppose," said Christian with a shrug. "I don't know. Mostly I'm out in the field; my office manager, Jörgen, is the one who sees the place the most. It would be the same here."

Leslie sighed gently. "But you can't have plain old white," she protested. "That's really boring. Make it something attractive, something that will put people at ease when they come in."

"Like what?" Christian asked blankly.

Leslie ruminated. "Hmm…well, I'd go with beige only as an absolute last resort. Something understated, not too overpowering. Green or blue might be your best bet there…maybe just a pale shade of one of those, like seafoam or sky blue or even pale teal…"

Christian broke in, "Wait, I understand green and blue, and even sky blue I can picture…but what on earth are those others?"

"Are you saying you've never seen seafoam or teal? Is that because you don't look at paint much, or because you're not familiar with trendy English color names?" Leslie asked teasingly.

"I don't know the English terms for those colors," Christian told her, making her eyes widen. "They sound fancier than is really necessary. Seafoam is blue, right? And I thought teal was a duck."

"Uh-oh," said Leslie and glanced at Roarke with merry eyes. He smiled back, trying not to chuckle. "I suppose it's time for a little education. Or else you could leave it entirely up to me, my love."

"Wait a moment," Christian blurted, beginning to sound faintly desperate. "Just whose office is this supposed to be?" He caught Leslie's frown and backtracked. "I know you only want to help, my Leslie Rose, but shouldn't I have the final say on the color scheme?"

"Of course you should, my darling," Leslie said in a soothing tone that sounded just a touch exaggerated. "But you did ask for help, and I'm simply offering it."

"But you need to remember, sweetie-pie," said Christian in a very sugary voice, "I get final approval. And you'll have to show me those colors in case I don't like them."

"Of course, honeybunch," Leslie purred, tipping her head to one side and smiling oh-so-nicely. "Just let me know whenever you need me to tell you what pink is, and sunshine, and chocolate…"

"Now bunnikins…" Christian began sweetly.

Roarke abruptly stood up. "Excuse me," he said, "I am afraid I must go and brush my teeth." With that, he left the veranda, leaving Christian and Leslie staring after him in bewilderment for a moment.

Then Christian's last term sank in and Leslie twisted back around in her seat to stare at him. _"Bunnikins!?"_ she said, astonished, making a face of revulsion. "Where on earth did you get that one?"

"All our television is imported, either from the US or England or Sweden," Christian told her, "and I heard it on an American show. I was watching an episode of something called 'King's Castle' once, and one character called another character 'bunnikins'."

Leslie sat up straight. "They did not!" she immediately contradicted. "I grew up on 'King's Castle' and it's my all-time favorite TV show. Nobody, but _nobody_, on 'King's Castle' _ever_ called anyone else 'bunnikins'!"

"Oh yes they did," Christian retorted, and the next thing they knew there was a lively argument going on between them. They had never really resolved it, though Leslie had secretly promised herself to pay very close attention to the reruns from that time on.

Eventually, at any rate, the color problem had been settled; having learned what "seafoam" was, Christian had agreed to a pale tint of that for the walls, along with a wallpaper border again chosen by Leslie. It was a quiet print of light-brown geometric shapes, with a hunter-green stripe along the top and bottom of the paper. During three slow days in early February, Leslie and her friends had made a party out of painting and wallpapering, with food from Maureen's mother's catering service to keep them fortified. Christian had frequently dropped in to see what progress was being made; and every time he did, he found himself getting a real charge from (not to mention being very turned on by) the sight of Leslie in frayed denim cutoffs, a T-shirt she had owned since high school, and her hair in a messy ponytail under a faded bandanna, with paint splatters on her clothing, her ancient Keds and even her skin. The first day, he'd given in to the impulse to kiss her, and it had grown quite heated very quickly, prompting teasing, approving hoots from her friends that had broken them apart and made Leslie turn very red in the face.

By the first week in March Christian had been ready to begin screening applicants for the four positions he intended to set up in this office: two computer experts (one to go into the field and set up websites as he himself did, the other to work in the office and provide troubleshooting); an accountant; and a general manager. To that end he had placed ads in the _Fantasy Island Chronicle_ and was soon swamped with applications, nearly all of them from people born since the mid-70s and making not only Christian but Leslie feel unduly old. "All these college kids," Christian said with a heavy sigh one evening, paging slowly through the stack of applications. "I suppose, at forty-one, I'm quite a pioneer in the field."

"Maybe even senior citizen," Leslie teased him and got a playful swat on the shoulder in response. "If it bugs you that much, my love, maybe you should take some refresher courses."

"I am fine, thank you very much," Christian had retorted, looking affronted and making her laugh. Seeing her mirth, he had to laugh too. "All right, enough old-man jokes. Tell me, my darling, have you looked at any of these? I know you and Mr. Roarke know most, if not all, the people on the island. Maybe you have some idea who some of these folks are."

Leslie accepted the stack and eyed several in succession, then squinted more closely at the applicants' addresses. "Oh dear. I won't be much help here, I guess. Looks like the majority of these people live off-island."

"Really!" said Christian in surprise. "How can that be? I didn't place the ad in any other newspaper."

"Well, a lot of our guests take copies of the _Chronicle_ home with them as souvenirs," Leslie said, "and I expect word got around once those papers were taken off the island. They distribute the paper on Coral Island too, mostly on the Air Force base there. There's a whole raft of applications here from there and from Hawaii, and a bunch from the mainland too. And wow, here's one from Germany."

Christian sighed heavily and fell back on the sofa; he and Leslie were sitting in the TV room at the time, having just finished dinner and letting Roarke take the evening to clear out a mountain of backlogged paperwork in peace. "Either I have quite a reputation, or these people are desperate for jobs."

"More likely they see the location of the branch office and see it as an irresistible chance to come and live on Fantasy Island," Leslie mused. She met Christian's gaze and smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry, my love, I really would like to help you out…but I guess this has to be your problem."

Christian shifted closer to her and slid his arm around her shoulders while she thumbed through some more forms. "Well, this is boring anyway. I suggest we do something much more interesting."

Leslie was about to say something when a name on a form caught her eye. "Wait a minute, here's a familiar name," she said excitedly, pulling the page out of the stack. "Julianne Ichino. That's one of Camille's siblings…the oldest quad, to be exact. Gosh, I completely forgot, those kids are in their junior year of college. They turn 21 in a few weeks…unbelievable!"

Christian chuckled and rested his head against hers, just to take in the scent of her hair. "So you've known them ever since they were babies, I suppose," he said.

"I was here when they were born," said Leslie. "They're good kids, Christian. Here, why don't you take a look at this and see what you think." She offered him the page, and he gave in good-naturedly and accepted it, perusing it thoughtfully.

"She's very thorough, this Julianne Ichino," he observed at length. "Born and raised on this island, good grades all through school, majoring in computer studies and particularly adept at designing websites…!" He leaned forward, face alive with interest. "Do they have school vacation soon?"

"Next week actually," Leslie said. "The quads always come home for that week. You could bring Julianne in for an interview then, and if you like her, that's one position filled."

"That would be fabulous," Christian agreed. "Now for the troubleshooter, the accountant and the manager…"

As it turned out, when the quads did come home from college for spring break, he found himself hiring not only Julianne but her brother Jonathan, who filled the accountant's position. Because the two were still actively in school, he arranged for them both to work part-time and put in another ad for part-time temporary positions so that someone would be there when they had to be back in school. Both Jonathan and Julianne were very excited, and Julianne went so far as to tell Leslie, "What a great guy, Miss Leslie. You sure lucked out! Does he have any brothers?"

Leslie giggled. "Two, but they're both much older than he is. He does have three nephews though, so you might still have a chance." They'd both laughed.

Now, in late March, it was a Friday night and Leslie and Roarke were going over the weekend schedule while Christian pored tiredly over more applications. "Didn't we ever get anyone whose schedule would allow for them to take that empty slot this weekend?" Leslie asked, studying Roarke's date book over his shoulder.

"No, we never did, oddly enough," Roarke said, shaking his head. "However, there's no need to fret over it. I did receive a last-minute request from someone just this morning, so we'll have the regular workload for the weekend."

"Who is it?" Leslie asked.

"Tomorrow," Roarke promised her, "you'll see then." He noticed something out of the corner of his eye and focused on Christian, who turned out to be watching them both with inordinate interest from his chair at the tea table. "What can we do for you, Christian?"

Christian laughed self-deprecatingly. "I apologize, Mr. Roarke, but I have to tell you, I find yours and Leslie's jobs utterly fascinating. Perhaps more so at the moment, because I'm going cross-eyed from reading all these job applications. I wonder if you'd object if I hung around more than usual this weekend, just to get a better look at this business you're in. Frankly, I need a break from this." As if to punctuate the point, he brandished the stack of forms he was going through, and then gave them a frustrated toss, scattering loose pages all over the room. Roarke and Leslie burst out laughing.

"I don't know how much of a break it would truly be," Roarke remarked as a chuckling Christian began to gather the stray sheets, "but if you really wish to keep Leslie company this weekend, I see no problem with it, as long as she doesn't object. I would only remind you of our privacy policy."

"Of course," Christian agreed readily. "Not a word shall pass my lips. Not that anyone would believe me, I'm sure."

"Indeed they wouldn't, particularly this weekend," Roarke remarked, half mysterious, half resigned. Leslie eyed him and wondered exactly what they were in for.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- March 25, 2000

Once their first guests—three buddies there for a twenty-five-year college reunion—had disembarked, Leslie turned to Roarke. "Okay, enough secrets. Who's the next guest?"

Roarke gestured at the plane dock; an ethereally beautiful woman with thick, wavy blonde hair and a willowy figure stepped out and picked her way down the dock, watching her bare feet. She wore only a long translucent white shift and a flower crown in her hair, and seemed a little bewildered by her surroundings. "There she is."

Leslie studied the new arrival with some puzzlement. "She seems…uncertain," she said after a moment. "Out of place, as if she's in totally unfamiliar territory."

"That she is," Roarke said. "Her name is Athena, and she claims to be bored."

"Athena what? And bored how?" Leslie wanted to know.

"Just Athena," Roarke said. "You see, Leslie, she is one of the ancient Greek gods and goddesses; in this case, the goddess of war. And she is bored because for centuries, she and her cronies have gone idle, with nothing to do and no one to do it for."

Leslie, still trying to get past the "Greek goddess" part, was staring at him as if he had sprouted three new heads. "Wait a minute, Father…back up. A Greek goddess?!"

"Leslie Susan," Roarke scolded, "how long have you been my assistant? How long have you lived on this island? How many things have you seen here? I am truly amazed at you, young lady. I had hoped by now that you would have learned to take these things more in stride."

Leslie sighed deeply. "Well, it's not as if we see these folks every weekend, you know. Anyway, so she's bored and needs something to do. Such as what?"

"She would like, very simply, to be worshipped once again, as she and the others were in the glory days of ancient Greece," said Roarke.

"Oh boy," murmured Leslie. "This is going to be very interesting."

Roarke half smiled in response, lifted his glass and toasted their guests, while Leslie wondered what on earth she was going to tell Christian. _I hope he's at least fairly open-minded,_ she thought.

‡ ‡ ‡

Roarke and Leslie returned to the main house to find Christian at the desk, on the phone with someone. She cast her father a glance, but he simply gave her a nod and a reassuring look. Christian saw them come in and said quickly, "I'm afraid I must hang up…but yes, let me e-mail you and set up a time for an interview. It will have to be on Lilla Jordsö—I hope that won't inconvenience you. No? Excellent. All right, thank you." He hung up and smiled a greeting, coming over to kiss Leslie. "Good morning, my Leslie Rose…and good morning, Mr. Roarke." He hadn't been up yet when Roarke and Leslie had left for the plane dock.

"Good morning, Christian," Roarke said. "It appears you've settled on a candidate for one of the open positions, then."

Christian nodded. "Leslie saw an applicant from Germany in the stack, and I took a good look at it this morning after I woke up. He seems very qualified, but since it's a long trip, I'll wait to interview him until I've returned to Lilla Jordsö. Anyhow…I have the sense that I should get out of your way."

"I don't want it to seem as if we are throwing you out," said Roarke humorously, "but we do have a guest coming in here very shortly."

Christian nodded. "That's all right. Perhaps I can get a little breakfast at the restaurant or something."

Leslie groaned. "Christian, honey, you don't have to avoid Mariki. If you want, I'll go in with you and lay down the law. She should know by now, but just in case…"

"Thank you, my darling," Christian said, casting Roarke a sheepish look. "I realize it seems silly for me to be afraid of her, but as I mentioned before, she thinks I'm a demon."

"I'll fix her," Leslie said with determination. "Be back shortly, Father."

Roarke watched the two head for the kitchen and chuckled to himself, shaking his head. No sooner were Christian and Leslie gone than the door opened and Athena came inside, staring in amazement around the room. "Well, Roarke, my old friend, you still have the most exquisite taste of any man, mortal or not, I've ever known. Even the other gods had no sense of décor."

Roarke grinned. "Welcome, Athena, and thank you. Would you care to sit down? Frankly, I'm somewhat surprised that you chose the method of transportation that you did to come here."

Athena shrugged her shoulders and faced Roarke head-on, saying, "Well, Zeus has been on our backs about keeping up with the times, and ever since Ares took over the field of war, all that's been left to me is domestic arts. And that doesn't call for much travel, you know." She settled gingerly in one of the leather chairs. "To be completely honest, I don't miss war all that much. It's always been the traditional province of swaggering macho he-men anyhow. And besides, the way mankind has devoted itself to developing all kinds of sophisticated new weaponry…though, what's so sophisticated about killing tools, I ask you? It just sickens me, Roarke. But then…" She paused when Leslie came back into the room, minus Christian. "Oh, I had no idea you had company."

Roarke smiled. "Athena, this is my daughter, Leslie Hamilton, who is also my assistant. Anything you say to me, you can say in front of her. Please, do go on."

Athena smiled at Leslie. "Good to meet you, young lady. Well, as I was saying, I may not have to worry about war any longer, but then the domestic arts are getting short shrift too. Most women work, and the housework suffers, and too many men still think housework is beneath them…no one has any time to devote to such quiet, homespun pursuits. Knitting, sewing, crocheting…that's almost unknown. Even cooking isn't given the attention it should be. It's throw something in the microwave, or defrost some frozen concoction…how thoroughly pathetic that so much time and importance is devoted to some corporate career. Don't get me wrong, that has its place in life, but it shouldn't be the _only_ thing in life."

"I see," said Roarke. "So precisely what are you asking of me, then?"

"I want to be worshipped again, Roarke. Actively worshipped. It was Christianity that drove us into obscurity, and now that's about all that's out there, at least in our part of the world. Ares has been out there and seen the Islamic and Buddhist religions. But I miss the good old days when we were held in high esteem. I was hoping that if I could rise to the prominence of the modern-day deities, perhaps the crafty arts would come back into some prominence. And I could finally get out of Olympus each day."

Roarke regarded Athena with a faintly dubious expression. "While I understand your point of view, Athena, I must advise you that the very modern-day religions you just enumerated are so entrenched that all others that went before them are now considered false or pagan at best. You and all the other gods of long ago are regarded as mythology."

"What are the modern-day religions but another form of mythology?" Athena argued. "If these deities are real, why are we not? Don't I look real to you, young lady?"

"You seem pretty corporeal to me," Leslie remarked, glancing at Roarke, who smiled slightly.

"Thank you," said Athena with satisfaction, shooting Roarke a look of her own.

Roarke's smile widened a fraction. "Perhaps, perhaps," he conceded, "but there may never be more than a cult status associated with worshipping you, Athena, and you should keep that in mind."

"Martha Stewart is a cult, isn't she?" Athena shot back. "And she and I are in the same field."

Leslie said helpfully, "They do call Martha Stewart a domestic goddess, you know."

Roarke looked a little broadsided, glancing back and forth between the two women. Athena was peering at Leslie with new respect. "I like you, young lady. Forgive me, what was your name again?"

"Leslie," said Leslie, smiling at her.

"Yes, Leslie. I like the way you think. Now tell me if you agree with me on this one. From everything I've seen, all modern monotheistic religions state unequivocally that their central deity is a male. The female is relegated to childbearer—preferably of more males, I notice. Men have nearly all the important roles in support of these deities. Look at Christianity. One god—a male. This god had a child—another male. If it hadn't been necessary to bring in a female to bear that child, I'm sure there would have been no mention of the woman at all. Judaism has the same male god, though theirs is childless. Islam has more or less the same male god under another name, and the same with Buddhism. Would someone explain to me why this is so? Women had much more importance back in the good old days. We weren't relegated merely to invisible supporting roles. We were _someone_. We were on a par with the men, and we proved we were worthy of the name 'goddess'. I want to taste those times again, Roarke. I want to bring back some of the good old glory days. Please, I beg you. Maybe something will change. I do know one thing—it will make me feel useful…needed."

Roarke pondered Athena's impassioned tirade at some length, during which time Christian wandered back down the hallway with half a banana in one hand and stopped just at the beginning of the foyer, as yet unnoticed by anyone in the study. Leslie sat up at just that moment and said, "Father, she has some excellent points. I have to admit to wondering why that's so. I've never been able to figure out why modern men think they have to be in charge of everything and why women are little more than second-class citizens. It's not fair. We females are people in our own right, and we deserve to have equal say in whatever goes on in this world. We live here too, after all!"

Roarke focused on her and lifted his hands, palms down, to indicate that she should cease. "Calm down, Leslie. I quite agree with you, believe me. Men and women should indeed have equal say in the way of the world. However, even I am only one person, Athena. I cannot change the world, and neither can you. Not all alone, certainly."

"Maybe not, but if I could get enough followers, maybe we could make a difference," Athena said. In the foyer, still unnoticed, Christian squinted at the scene in confusion.

Roarke thought a little more, then gave a long, deep sigh that seemed to involve all the breath in his body. "Very well, Athena, I will grant your fantasy; and since you and Leslie seem to have developed a bond on some common ground, I will leave her to be something of an advisor and a helpmate to you during its course. But keep in mind that things may turn out quite differently from what you anticipate, all right?"

"Unpredictability adds excitement," said Athena with relish. "Thank you, Roarke. When can I start meeting my disciples?" Christian almost choked on a chunk of banana.

"Immediately," Roarke said and smiled. "Leslie, if you would?"

"No problem," Leslie said, and just as she and Athena stood up, Christian finally gave in to the coughing fit he had been desperately trying to stifle. All three of the occupants of the study turned around to peer at him, and Leslie skirted Athena with a quick "excuse me" and jumped the steps. "Christian, are you okay?"

Christian flapped a hand a few times, trying vainly to downplay his physical distress. Athena glanced at Roarke, who more or less fell back in his chair with another heavy sigh, and sprinted over to check out the newcomer. "Does he need the Heimlich?" she asked Leslie.

"No…no, that's…" Christian coughed hard a couple of times and finished croaking, "That's all right, but I thank you. I'm very sorry, but I really didn't want to intrude on your, uh, meeting…and I had nowhere else to go, so…" He shrugged sheepishly and descended into some more coughing.

Athena nodded. "Hm, I see. Roarke, do tell, who's this fellow, your adopted son?"

Roarke had to laugh. "Not son, but future son-in-law. Surely you recognize him, Athena? He's Leslie's fiancé, Prince Christian of Lilla Jordsö."

"Oh," said Athena, studying Christian with new interest. "Actually, I'm not very familiar with the Nordic countries. The Norse gods told us to keep out of their territory centuries ago, and we knew better than to tangle with them. That cold weather they have there really gives them the nastiest tempers." She caught Christian's shocked expression and grinned. "Though I have to tell you, I've had quite the crush on Thor for a few hundred years. Those muscles, that hammer…and those lightning bolts could come in handy when someone crosses me."

Leslie cleared her throat loudly. "Um. Athena, maybe we should leave right now…Father's got some more guests to meet, and anyway, I'm sure you'd like to start your fantasy right away."

"Absolutely," Athena agreed enthusiastically. "Prince, would you like to come along? It's been quite a long time since I chatted with a mortal male, and I could use a little enlightenment on the ways of the modern world anyway."

"Right," mumbled Christian. Athena beamed and departed; Leslie caught Roarke's long-suffering look and tossed him an apologetic smile before wrapping one arm around Christian's waist and towing him out the door with her in Athena's wake.

"What's the matter with you, anyway?" Leslie asked on the porch while Athena jogged into the lane and busied herself washing her hands in the fountain. "Why so stunned?"

Christian gaped at her. "Disciples? Norse gods? Crush on Thor? Who is that woman?"

"Don't noise it around, but she's the Greek goddess Athena," Leslie told him. "I still don't see why you're so astounded. I remember when you first proposed to me, trying to talk me out of my jitters, and telling me in a very matter-of-fact way that Teppo's death by a Finnish god wasn't my fault. Now why on earth would you take that in stride and not this?"

Christian's expression went bewildered, and she could see him struggling to remember; when it came back to him, he gave her a wary look. "I thought you meant some sort of organized-crime figurehead, actually."

Leslie stared at him in disbelief, then rolled her eyes. "Oh, good Lord. Well, come on, my love, I think we'd better start getting you a little more blasé, or I'll never be able to trade work anecdotes with you after we're married. Just this once, you're going to be an observer." Still with her arm around his waist, she pulled him along after Athena.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- March 25, 2000

Athena gave Leslie a wide grin as she and Christian came down the steps into the lane. "Well, and where will I find my followers?" she inquired.

Leslie smiled, hoping fervently that Christian's bewilderment would keep him quiet. "Just come with me," she said. "There's actually a very pretty little ornamental temple not far from the Japanese teahouse, and that can serve as your gathering place. It'll be all yours for the weekend."

"Sounds lovely," Athena said happily. "By all means, take me there. So tell me, then, what should I look out for? I realize this is the final year of the second millennium, so I imagine there'll be quite a lot of begging for deliverance from the end of the world and such things."

"Not really," said Christian suddenly. "Mostly just panic over Y2K, which was nothing after all."

Athena eyed him sidewise, long enough to make him turn red. "Whatever that was," she said, and Leslie tried to hide a smile, simultaneously giving Christian a pinch at the waistline that earned her a supremely dirty look from him. "If I can't expect that, then what?"

"Why don't you let it be a surprise?" suggested Leslie, hoping that might go over. "There's not really a lot of call for end-of-the-world deliverance nowadays. Actually, as far as I can tell, it's more down-to-earth. I mean, people asking to be cured of this or that disease, or help with all sorts of problems, or to meet a significant other, or…"

"What, pray tell, is a 'significant other'?" Athena asked.

"A very silly phrase that has no equivalent in _jordiska,"_ said Christian with a pointed glare at Leslie.

She removed her arm from his waist and stepped out in front of him to devote her full attention to Athena. "Modern-day vernacular," she said. "It's a unisex term for 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend', or even 'spouse'. As a matter of fact, you might be interested to know that these days the language is a lot more conscious of terms that sound too much like they favor the male of the species." She fielded Athena's interested look and went on, "Of course, a lot of it goes overboard…'flight attendant' somehow sounds more dignified than 'steward' or 'stewardess', but I think 'chairperson' walks a really fine line…and 'personhole' instead of 'manhole' is just going way too far."

"What's a manhole?" asked Athena, and from behind them there came a poorly stifled guffaw.

"I'll explain later," Leslie said, feeling a bit deflated and vowing to herself to give Christian what-for later on. "Anyway…there's the temple. Now I don't know how you want to handle this, but if you need any help, you know where to find me and Father."

Athena nodded, surveying the little Greek-style temple that had been built a couple of years before for someone's fantasy, located in a small grove of trees about five minutes' walk from the teahouse. "This looks as if it will do very nicely," she said approvingly. "I thank you most kindly, Leslie dear, and give Roarke my thanks as well." She leaned over as if to tell Leslie a secret. "I like your young man, but he seems a little…well, you know…blasphemous."

Leslie snickered. "No, only ignorant. Don't worry about him and just have a good time."

Athena nodded and went off to explore the temple a bit, while Christian paused a few feet behind Leslie and chuckled. "This should be interesting. I can't wait to see what happens. She's very pretty, of course, but she really doesn't look much like a goddess, Greek or otherwise."

"Then why don't you keep her company," Leslie suggested just a little too sweetly, "and you can be her evangelist. Recruit her some followers so you can see the results you anticipate so highly. As for me, I have a job to do. I presume you know your way back to the main house if you get bored." She strode past him and headed at a brisk clip back the way they'd come.

Not till she reached the Ring Road did she turn and realize that she was still alone. Had he really taken her up on her sarcastic suggestion, she wondered? Well, it would serve him right if he did, she told herself. If word got back to Roarke, well… Leslie clamped a mental lid on that thought and detoured to the teahouse to see if Katsumi needed anything.

Athena, meanwhile, had overheard Christian's remarks and was now peering at him with a slightly jaundiced eye. "I don't look much like a goddess?" she asked acidly.

Christian caught himself up short and cleared his throat nervously. "I don't mean to be insulting, really, but I just thought that goddesses were always far more beautiful than any mortal woman," he said.

"You sound disloyal to Leslie," Athena remarked, enjoying the rush of color that flooded his face. "Anyway, this is my travel persona. Zeus and Hera laid down the rules back in the eleventh century that if we absolutely must leave Olympus, for whatever reason, we are required to tamp down our natural beauty to keep from blinding poor ordinary mortals."

"Or being recruited by some Hollywood talent scout," added Christian, unable to resist.

"That too," said Athena serenely. "You know, Leslie was right. I actually could use someone to help convert folks to my side…a preacher, if you will. How good are you at speeches? You should be quite skilled at it, actually, being of a royal family…even if it _is_ only a minor one."

Christian narrowed his eyes at her. "I beg your pardon!"

"Well?" Athena prodded, ignoring his affrontery.

"Well, what?...oh, you mean the speeches? No, as a matter of fact, not only am I a member of a _minor_ royal family," Christian said with poisonous emphasis on the italicized word, "I am the most minor member of said family. I'm little more than a figurehead. If anyone's needed for speeches, they come to my brother the king. Arnulf is a natural windbag, so he's the perfect choice. I'm about as close to being a private citizen as a royal can ever hope to be. I live my life, I earn a living and I keep a low profile."

Athena was shaking her head. "This will just never do. If you're merely a figurehead, then what good can you possibly do me?" Christian's expression grew thunderous, and she finally noticed. "Oh, calm down, young man. Maybe all you need is a little practice. I have to tell you, you don't act much like any royal I ever met. Most are quite pompous. You seem to be little more than an afterthought."

Christian's mouth dropped wide open with outrage. "I'll have you know that when I am called upon, I can perform just as well as anyone else in my _minor_ royal family!" he exploded. "So you want an evangelist to get you some worshippers? Just tell me what message you want me to get across, and I'll deliver it. You want pompous, then pompous you'll get. I think it's time I proved to you that I truly am a prince, and perhaps after you've heard me speak, you'll realize that you most certainly _have_ seen me in the media, unless you happen to live under a rock and have never heard of television."

That got Athena's dander up and she glared at him. "Young man, you'd better be careful what you say to me," she warned in a deadly tone. "I don't care if you are a prince—I am a goddess, mind you, and goddesses trump princes any day of the week. Don't you forget that. Now, come on, and let's see you put your drachmas where your mouth is." She grabbed his arm and started for the greensward where many guests were taking their leisure; Christian, still worked up and ready to put the lie to any accusation she made, stalked along, his longer strides soon putting him out ahead of her. "Young man," Athena shouted.

Exasperated, Christian stopped short. _"What??"_

"I am the goddess, you are the mere prince—so you stay behind me," she snapped imperiously. "And one other thing. Why are you carrying a banana peel?"

For the first time Christian realized he still had the remains of his breakfast banana in one hand. He stared at it as though he had no idea how he'd come by it, then gave her a supremely regal look. "It's part of my plan to win you followers," he announced loftily.

Athena's expression was very dubious indeed. "Is that so? And precisely how are you going to do that?"

"Watch me," Christian said and resumed his walk towards the green; Athena now had to run to keep up. She finally came abreast of him when he paused in front of a small audience gathered around a long-haired young guitar player and watched him with growing disbelief while he declaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, if I might have your attention. Forgive me for interrupting your fine performance." This he said to the guitarist, who was eyeing him as if beholding a madman. "Have you ever wondered what alternatives there are to today's organized religions? Are you tired of following the crowd and want to be different? I have the perfect alternative for you. I present to you the goddess Athena, live and in person. She can give you anything your heart desires—all she asks in return is your loyalty and your faith."

The gathering mumbled, some of them snickering. The guitarist cocked a bushy eyebrow at Christian and said skeptically, "Yeah? How 'bout you prove it, motormouth?"

"Do you see this banana peel?" Christian demanded, holding said item aloft so that all could see it. "In the blink of your eye, Athena can make this a whole banana once more."

"You're pushing it, young man," Athena hissed at him.

"Just do it," Christian hissed back. "Trust me."

"That's what they all say," Athena grumbled, but drew in a deep breath and aimed a brilliant smile at their audience. "Just as my…assistant has promised. A complete banana. No, an entire _bunch_ of bananas! Yes! Bananas for all!" She swept a hand grandly through the air, and the next thing Christian knew he was loaded down with four or five bunches of bananas. He gaped at his burden, stunned completely speechless, while the crowd applauded with sudden enthusiasm and descended on him, grabbing bananas from his stash till he found himself empty-handed—even down to the original peel he'd been carrying with him.

"That's awesome!" shouted a boy about nine or ten years old. "Hey, lady, can I have a ten-speed bike?"

"I want a skateboard," yelled a teenager.

"One moment!" Christian roared over the clamor, which died out immediately, to his delighted surprise. He was normally not one to take the spotlight, and speeches tended to give him panic attacks for days before he was required to give them; but having a captive audience at his beck and call was giving him a strange new confidence. _If Leslie could just see me now,_ he thought. _How could I possibly be bored? Arnulf always said speeches were easy. Maybe he was right._ "Come now, do you ask the Lord or Allah or the Buddha for such things, so disrespectfully? This is Athena, a goddess in her own right! Show the proper respect, or she will refuse your prayers!"

Athena peered at him. "Hmm, that's not bad, young man. I appreciate it." She turned to the crowd and smiled at them all. "Yes, he's correct…I can give you all your heart desires, as long as you follow a few simple rules. All I ask is that you show me the respect due any god or goddess. You, the player of the musical instrument. What is your fondest wish?"

"To jam with a band, man," the guitar player said immediately. "To be rich and famous, instead of panhandling on the streets trying to get people to listen to me. I'm a genius, y'know, but I can't get anyone to see it. Can you do that for me, Lordess Athena?"

"Lordess?" Christian muttered, confused, unsure as to whether this was an actual English word.

"But of course," Athena said. "My only request is that you spread my word."

"Done," the man yelled enthusiastically. Athena beamed at him and waved her hand in his direction; he promptly disappeared, presumably to some venue where he was playing with a rock band.

"Can I still have a ten-speed?" shouted the boy who'd first spoken up.

Athena nodded. "As long as your parents are willing to worship me," she said. "My temple is just near the teahouse, and everyone is welcome. I'll be very happy to see you all there."

Christian stood by watching, trying to believe and wondering if he wasn't hallucinating, while Athena deftly granted the wishes of everyone in the crowd. At the same time, he got the feeling that someone was watching him, and turned around to see Leslie standing a few feet removed from the gathering, looking as though she wanted to explode with mirth. He fixed her with a dirty look and signaled at her to come closer to him; grinning outright, she did so.

"I see Athena's been very successful, thanks to you," she observed.

"Oh? And what do you know about it?" he inquired.

Leslie started to giggle maniacally. "I never knew you had it in you," she chortled. "Declaiming like that and having Athena change water into wine, as it were. Maybe you missed your true calling."

Christian hiked one eyebrow at her. "I'm happy to see you're so thoroughly entertained by my performance," he said acidly. "But don't forget, you are the one who suggested I assist the lady, so I'm not the only one to blame."

Leslie sobered. "That may be, but you might want to duck out now while the getting's good," she advised. "Athena's got things well in hand from the look of it, and you really weren't supposed to get involved anyway."

"You told me to," Christian reiterated.

"I was joking!" Leslie shot back, making his eyes widen with exasperation. "Come on, Christian, let's go, now. I really have to get back to the main house anyway."

"Suppose I choose not to?" Christian challenged her. "You can't force me to do something I don't wish to do. Don't forget, I am a prince after all." She squinted at him in astonishment while he continued, "I don't care how minor my family is, I am still a prince. And I can be as royal and regal and dignified as anyone else. Once Athena knew what she was dealing with, I was the natural choice."

Leslie peered suspiciously at Athena, who was now holding court amongst her audience, and mumbled, "I think she's done something to you. You've never put on airs like that before. At any rate, you sure aren't yourself." She focused on him and questioned snidely, "So, Your Royal Highness, may Father and I be graced with your august company at the lunch table, or shall we dine alone?"

Christian stared at her, and she stared back, and for a moment they seemed stuck in their own orbit while Athena basked in her newfound attention. "I'll see if Athena can spare me," Christian finally said distantly and nodded at her, dumbfounding her. "Until later."

Leslie lingered long enough to see if he really meant it: and when he sauntered back to Athena and took up a post by her side, she realized there was something fishy going on. As little as she wanted to confess to Roarke, she was going to have to. He was the only one who might have any ideas.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- March 25, 2000

Leslie tried to put off talking to Roarke as long as possible. She was convinced he wouldn't approve of Christian's getting involved in Athena's fantasy, and kept mentally quailing at facing his almost certain wrath. But if Christian was under Athena's influence, how else could she tear him away before the weekend ended—particularly if she wanted to keep his distant mien from turning into something more complicated?

But then, to her startled chagrin, she ran into Roarke at the hotel, where he was just checking on the evening's menu with Kazuo. "How goes it?" he asked with a smile.

She knew what he meant. "Well, it seems Athena's very happy so far," Leslie said carefully. "She got the attention of a group of folks out on the green, and it looked to me as if she had them eating out of her hand."

"Indeed," said Roarke, chuckling, then frowned slightly and glanced behind her as if expecting someone else. "What happened to Christian?"

_Oh no…I knew he was going to notice._ Leslie cleared her throat. "Uh…he's helping Athena."

"_Helping_ her?" echoed Roarke suspiciously.

"Worse than that," Leslie rushed on, hoping to get to the actual problem without having to retrace the path that had taken them there, "I think she's doing something to him. You know how he normally keeps to himself and generally goes on as if he's just another ordinary human being. Well, ever since Athena's fantasy started, he's been…weird. It's like he's suddenly remembered he's a prince, and he's acting all distant and cold, as though I were merely another subject of his or something."

Roarke regarded her. "So he is merely assuming his royal role. Perhaps that's normal for him, Leslie. After all, you have never seen him in his own country, living his normal life."

"That's not Christian," Leslie said flatly. "If Anna-Kristina were here, she'd say the same thing."

Roarke shook his head a little. "I think you'd better take me to where you left Athena, Leslie. It sounds to me as if there's something you aren't telling me."

She still didn't elaborate on their way to the green, and Roarke didn't press the issue, but the silence was uncomfortable. They parked near the teahouse and went to the little temple Leslie had assigned to Athena for the weekend; and there was the goddess, now seated on a small marble throne apparently blessing a long line of people one by one. Leslie searched for Christian, but he didn't appear to be anywhere in sight.

Roarke put a hand between her shoulder blades and gently prodded her forward, making straight for the temple. Athena saw them coming and beamed. "Roarke! You've worked wonders here. Just look at all these people! There, my dear, go well." This last she addressed to an elderly woman who had limped up to her on a cane; as Roarke and Leslie watched with wide eyes, the delighted woman walked away on two good feet, tossing her cane aside.

"Very nice, Athena," Roarke said, managing to hide all but a trace of dubiousness, "but are you quite certain it's wise to so blatantly display your powers?"

"How else will I win converts?" Athena asked logically, and Roarke's expression reflected his reluctant concession of her point. "Is there something I can do for you, perhaps?"

"Yes, where is Prince Christian?" Roarke asked point-blank.

"Who? Oh, you mean that young man who was with me. He left here some little time ago. Looked rather ill. I offered to take care of it for him, but he refused and left. Gracious, Roarke, he seemed nice enough when you first introduced him, but I have to wonder what your daughter sees in him. He's had his nose in the air for some time, and when he left here it was out of joint. No idea where he went. Ah, you poor thing, let me take care of that for you." She traced a finger down the wart-adorned nose of a middle-aged man, and like magic the wart was gone.

"Thank you, my goddess, and all praise to you," the man said, bowing deeply, then backed out of the temple to allow the next person in line to move up.

"Did you see which way he went?" Leslie asked insistently.

"Sorry, dear. Maybe you should try the main house," Athena suggested. "And Roarke, again, thank you. I daresay I'm your most satisfied customer. If I can do anything for you, just name it."

Roarke glanced at Leslie, quirked the most fleeting of smiles and requested dryly, "If you can manage it in between blessings, Athena, both Leslie and I would greatly appreciate it if you could see to it that Christian is brought back here."

"I told you, I don't know where he is," said Athena, puzzled.

"Not like that," Leslie said. "Do it the way you did the, uh…the…you know."

Athena squinted at her, then brightened. "Oh, of course, as with the bananas. You might want to step aside, my dear." Leslie edged behind Roarke, and Athena raised her right hand high in the air, doubled up her fist and pointed her index finger at the ground, then swept her arm down in one swift motion, at the same time calling out something in Greek. There was a flash and a boom that made Leslie cringe and even gave Roarke a start; and when the noise and light vanished, there stood Christian, looking disoriented.

"So there you are," said Roarke dryly.

Christian blinked rapidly, gave his head a few violent shakes and looked around. His face cleared as he realized where he was. "Oh, so it was you," he said to Athena. "What do you need me for?"

"It's not I who needs you, it's these two," Athena said, gesturing at Roarke and Leslie.

Christian regarded them, still looking a little befuddled. "Is it lunchtime, then?"

"Perhaps you had better come along with us," Roarke said meaningfully, his tone making it less an option than a requirement. "Oh, and Athena, when you have some free time, I would like to see you in my office."

Athena looked curiously at him. "Oh? As a matter of fact, I can spare the time right now. I apologize, everyone, but temple's closed for now. I'll resume after lunch." She smiled, arose from her throne and spread her arms in the air. "May you all be blessed and go well."

At the main house, Roarke faced the three of them from behind his desk. "So," he said, "what is the full story here? Athena, if you would be so kind, perhaps you can tell me just how you were so quickly able to gain such a massive following."

Athena beamed. "I have this young man to thank," she said. "Why, you should have seen him, Roarke." She cheerfully described the scene of earlier that morning. Leslie, who had missed most of it, stared in astonishment at her and then at Christian, whose expression was still that of the inconvenienced royal; Roarke took it all in without comment, although when Leslie stole a glance at him, she realized his dark eyes were twinkling.

"This seems rather sudden," he remarked thoughtfully, slowly taking his chair. "Uh, Christian…" This resulted in Christian's expression changing from distantly haughty to mildly outraged.

"Please, Mr. Roarke. 'Your Highness'," he said.

Roarke caught Leslie's wince and delicate sidestep away from Christian, but took it in stride. "As you wish, Your Highness. Is this true? It appears you have discovered a latent talent."

"So it would seem," Christian said, frowning. "It was quite the experience. Perhaps when I return to Lilla Jordsö, I should ask Arnulf to assign me a few extra royal duties. I might even consider delivering his speeches for him now and then…when he has laryngitis, or on some similar occasion."

Roarke visibly stifled a smile. "Very unusual," he said, turning to Athena. "How odd, Athena, that he wasn't like this until he joined you and Leslie."

Athena looked blankly at him, then got his meaning and drew herself up straight with indignation. "Now, Roarke, if that's an accusation, I can assure you I had nothing to do with his loquaciousness. The man is a born orator. I don't think I've ever heard quite such a rousing speech as the one he made in converting my first followers."

"Hm," said Leslie with a narrow-eyed sidelong glance at Christian. "A regular televangelist."

"I beg your pardon," Christian said, scowling at her. "I am a prince!"

"You've made that more than clear," Leslie retorted in exasperation.

"Please, Leslie and Chris…excuse me, Your Highness," Roarke corrected himself with pointed, and perhaps faintly sarcastic, emphasis on the title. "If we might return to the subject at hand…"

"I tell you, Roarke, that isn't my influence," Athena said firmly. "Royal genes will out, that's all I can tell you. The young man himself mentioned that his kingly brother is a natural windbag. Most royals are, in my experience, and this one's no exception." That got her a heated glare from Christian and a half-swallowed giggle from Leslie. "He was simply perfect for the purpose. However, Roarke, I really don't need his services any longer. He's accomplished what he needed to do, and I can handle everything myself from here on."

Roarke regarded Athena speculatively, then nodded. "Very well…I have no reason not to believe you. I appreciate your time." Athena smiled, raised her arms in one grand sweep and vanished. "Now, you two…to begin with, Leslie, you really never should have said what you did to Christian, no matter how exasperated you may have been with him. It could have easily become disastrous."

Leslie nodded contritely. "I'm sorry, Father…it's only that he was acting so out of character, it made me mad. Besides, it's hard to argue with a stubborn prince."

"At least you have the sense to see that," Christian said with a huff.

Roarke eyed him oddly. "I begin to understand what you mean, Leslie," he observed. "When, precisely, did you notice this in him?"

"Almost as soon as we joined Athena," said Leslie. "It was like a…a personality transplant."

Christian's glare now encompassed them both. "Must I remind you, I'm a prince!" he snapped. "I'd appreciate it if the two of you would refrain from discussing me as though I were a corpse you were about to dissect."

Leslie lost the last of her patience. "Oh, for crying out loud, Christian, get over yourself!" She turned to Roarke. "You'll notice that Athena isn't here, and he's still acting like that. So it had to be something else, but for the life of me I have no idea what."

At that point Mariki appeared in the foyer. "Lunch is ready, Mr. Roarke and Miss Leslie. Is His Royal, Exalted Highness planning to join you?"

"Damn it, Mariki, what's your problem?" Leslie demanded. "Really, I don't understand what's wrong with you. You were so nice to him in the kitchen this morning…gave him the best-looking banana in the lot when we came looking for some breakfast for him."

"It was a very tasty banana," Christian remarked, studying Mariki with a cold expression. "I would have thanked you for it, if it weren't for your attitude now. Although I must tell you I do appreciate your use of my proper title."

Mariki smiled, surprising both Leslie and Roarke, and said, "I knew you'd like that banana, Your Princely Entity." She nodded at her employer and disappeared down the hall.

Leslie stared after her. "There's something about her…" she mumbled.

Roarke caught her tone and, standing up, called out sharply. "Mariki, come back here immediately!"

A moment later Mariki returned, looking a little startled. "Can I help you, sir?"

"What was in that banana?" Roarke asked point-blank. It sounded like a nonsense question, but he looked perfectly serious. And even more strangely, Mariki got a guilty look about her.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Mariki said hopefully.

"I'm sure you do," Roarke parried ominously. "I insist that you explain yourself immediately…or I may be forced to find another cook. Chef Miyamoto may be saddled with a second job."

Mariki, shocked, gawked at him. "Mr. Roarke!"

"Spill it," Leslie barked. "I'm pretty fed up with your sarcasm and the way you've been treating him, so if this is your doing, then you better start talking. Let's have it."

Mariki gave up and heaved a long sigh. "I got it from my husband," she said. "Kono makes a mean brand of moonshine. It's distilled from a couple of odd plants that grow on our property and bear some very tasty fruit. Kono has some odd superstitions, even for a native, I'll admit it, but you just never know…especially on an enchanted island like this. I filled a medical syringe with some of his brew and injected it into the banana I gave His Elevated Self over there…" She noticed Leslie's black glare and amended, "…to the prince. He never noticed the difference…Kono's moonshine has no taste."

Leslie was speechless; Christian seemed fascinated by Mariki's explanation. Roarke stared at the cook in astonishment. "Mariki, I am amazed at you. Simply amazed. I thought Leslie had explained everything to you after Christian first returned here. I don't know why you have it in for him, but I must say, you are one of the worst grudge-holders I have ever met. And this is simply…it's worse than egregious, it's downright juvenile. Why?"

"He's hurt Miss Leslie once too often," Mariki said, fidgeting. "I just couldn't stand to see him so easily forgiven. You should have held out, Miss Leslie, made him suffer."

"Oh?" said Leslie, skirting Christian to advance on a now wide-eyed Mariki. "For one thing, Mariki, you are _not_ my mother, no matter how much you try to fill the role. Even if you were, you'd have to let go, because you also seem to forget that I'm grown up now. That's spelled A-D-U-L-T. I've come of age, I've attained my maturity, I'm a woman…not a little girl." Mariki opened her mouth as soon as Leslie paused, but Leslie saw her coming and instantly overrode her. "And second, suppose I had made him suffer, as you put it. Did it ever occur to you that it would have not only made Christian miserable, but me too?"

"He deserved it," Mariki insisted.

"That isn't for you to decide," Leslie shot back, gaining momentum. "You don't seem to understand that I love him. Can you decipher those three words, or does someone have to translate them into Hawaiian or whatever else you speak? I. Love. Him. Period. End of sentence. I am in love with Christian, and I'm going to be in love with him for the rest of my life. You may as well accept that right now, Mariki. I don't care if you don't like it. That's the way it is, and that's the final word. If you don't put any credence into my decree, then maybe you'll listen to Father, but you're going to hear the same thing from him!"

"Indeed you will," said Roarke firmly when Mariki looked at him.

Mariki sighed heavily and shrugged. "My apologies," she mumbled. "Lunch is still ready." Very red in the face, she shuffled back down the hall to the kitchen.

"You're going to let her get away with that?" Christian demanded from behind Leslie. "If it were my decision, I would have had her guillotined."

Very slowly, Roarke let his gaze drift to the ceiling and stay there. Leslie whirled on Christian and yelled, "Well, it's _not_ your decision, and the least you could do is show a little gratitude for my defending you, prince or no prince! I hope to high heaven that when that stuff finally wears off, you have the worst hangover in the history of drinking!" She whipped back around and stormed out of the house.

"Shall we have lunch?" Roarke offered, with just a bare hint of weariness in his tone, and left without waiting for Christian's reply. Christian watched him go, then shrugged and followed him.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- March 26, 2000

Athena had been by late Saturday afternoon and mentioned a massive storm to Roarke, who at the time had been alone in the office. "Why?" Roarke had asked blankly, with a quiet sigh. All they needed was another storm; there'd been enough strife within his own household that day.

"I've encountered some skeptics, and they need convincing," Athena said. "I've consulted with Thor and a few other gods who have some influence on the weather. Since that young man of your daughter's is nominally a subject of Thor's, he very kindly agreed. Said he needed to make sure Majalner still works."

"What?" Roarke said, feeling unusually foolish.

"You know, his hammer. Whatever the name of the thing is. I could never pronounce those peculiar Norse words. Give me Greek any day."

"Mjolnir," said Roarke wearily, with a creditable accent that would have impressed Christian. "Well, at any rate, Athena, I thank you for the warning. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I suppose not," Athena had said and smiled. "I'm off, Roarke. Batten down the hutches." She breezed through the French doors. Roarke had shaken his head and gone after her to secure the shutters. One thing was certain: it had not been a dull weekend.

But he had never had a chance to forewarn Leslie about Athena's planned storm, so she was caught rudely by surprise around one-thirty in the morning when it descended upon them in an abrupt and terrifying explosion of lightning and thunder. It was as though bombs were going off; the storm seemed to be seated directly over the eastern end of Fantasy Island, where the resort was primarily centered. Petrified, she curled up in as tight a ball as she could squeeze her body, plugged her ears with her fingers, screwed her eyes shut and waited grimly.

It took only a few minutes before she felt someone touch her arm, and she cautiously cracked one eye open to see who it was. The strobing lightning revealed Christian, who wore a questioning, gentle smile, kneeling beside her bed. "Would it be all right with you if I stay with you?" he asked softly, lifting one of her hands from the ear it was stopping up so that she could hear him.

"Are you still…well, drunk?" Leslie asked warily.

"No, but I do have that hangover you so fervently wished on me," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile, and she had to grin at him. He brightened and settled onto the bed, gathering her into his arms and holding her very tightly. Despite the cacophony outside, she began to relax in his embrace, feeling safer.

"I'm surprised you didn't sleep through this. Father always does," Leslie remarked presently.

"Oh, well, I've always enjoyed storms…the bigger, the better," Christian said. "They wake me up because I'm always excited to see them. In that monstrosity of a castle back home, there's a room with one wall made entirely of sheets of glass, facing west across the ocean. There's an unobstructed view from there. As a child, when a storm came through, I'd run from my own room all the way to that one and curl up in a chair there, and watch the storms in all their magnificent fury."

"I wish I had your courage," Leslie murmured wistfully, cringing at another deafening explosion of thunder.

Christian laughed softly. "I don't mind. I rather like holding you. My darling, I really have to apologize for my foolishness yesterday. I don't drink much, but aquavit does the very same thing to me…brings out all that princely snobbishness that my siblings and I were raised with. I turn into a real despot, and no one can stand to be around me. Now that I think about it, I'm surprised you didn't punch me out."

"It was tempting," Leslie said, and they both laughed and tightened their hold on each other. "I guess I know not to keep liquor in the house with you around, then. Where on earth did this storm come from? It wasn't even supposed to rain tonight."

"No?" said Christian. "Ah, well…that's all right, it gives me an excuse to come to you." He began to rock back and forth a little, resting his chin atop her head and falling silent for a few moments. She nestled her head into his shoulder, arms firmly around him and head tucked under his chin, absorbing his warmth. She was going to be very sorry indeed when the time finally came for him to leave; she could get used to this brand of comforting all too quickly.

Over her head Christian began to murmur, voice sounding a little faraway. _"…And yet the storm can never touch us / For we are Thor's disciples…"_ Leslie tuned in, curious to hear more, and listened with fascination. _"His mighty hammer yields protection / Never flinching, striking true / All around us, fallen foes / Tempest wild! We call upon you!"_

When he paused, she asked, "What was that?"

She felt Christian's chuckle, more than heard it. "One of our poetic sagas. It's called 'Battle of the Storm', and it was always my favorite. In school I memorized the entire thing and recited it in a presentation. I still remember some of the stanzas, although most of it seems to have evaporated from my memory now."

"How apropos for the moment," Leslie commented.

He chuckled again, and this time she felt his voice resonate through her. "You're right, I didn't think of it that way." He shifted his hold on her, and she felt him drop a kiss atop her head. A moment or two later he began to recite once more.

"_And my Valkyrie rides the heavens / On a gleaming horse of white / Steadfast by her man in battle / Charging bravely through the night / Strength and courage drive her forward / Worthy is she at my side / Two invincible together…"_ He paused long enough to slip a finger under her chin and tilt her head back, then completed the final line: _"For we are Thor's disciples."_ And he kissed her, driving his hand into her hair and making her all but forget the storm.

‡ ‡ ‡

By morning the storm had cleared away and the air was fresh and warm; there were puddles yet, and every leaf and structure glistened with raindrops. Roarke came out for breakfast and noted something out of place in his peripheral vision as he started down the veranda. Stopping to look, he found himself grinning at the sight of Christian and Leslie, arm in arm, meandering barefoot through the wet grass of the lawn at the side of the house.

"It appears you've worked your way through another disagreement," he called out.

They stopped and grinned sheepishly at him at the same moment. "You could say we weathered another storm together," Leslie said, evoking a loud groan from Christian. Laughing, she popped a kiss on his cheek and turned to Roarke. "What was that all about last night? It sounded like World War III had started right here on the island. Someone's weather forecast left a lot to be desired."

Roarke smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, child," he said, "but it was Athena's doing. She stopped by here long enough yesterday to advise me that she had consulted with various other gods to bring on this storm…apparently to impress a few doubting Thomases. Unfortunately, I never found an opportunity to forewarn you as well."

Leslie smiled. "That's okay," she said. "Christian came in and kept me company. He likes the things, believe it or not." She snickered at Christian's exaggerated eye-roll. "You know, I'm not altogether sure we should have breakfast here at home. After our confrontation with Mariki yesterday, there's no telling what we're going to find on our plates."

Roarke laughed and observed, "If Mariki hasn't learned her lesson by now, then I daresay there's no hope for her. Why don't you two come up here and we'll find out what sort of mood she is in."

Before Mariki came out, though, they were visited by Athena, who was in a good mood. "Well," she said brightly, "what did you think of my storm?"

"Very impressive," said Christian. "I admire your efforts."

"You're lucky I didn't die of fright," Leslie put in dryly.

Athena shrugged, looking pleased with herself. "I was hoping for some good reactions. That gives me some idea of what I can expect from my followers." She focused on Christian. "Thor tells me he overheard you reciting some poem or another last evening. Said to let you know he appreciates it, and it's nice that someone remembers him after all these centuries." She winked at an astonished Christian and smiled benignly at Roarke. "Well, then, enjoy your breakfast, everyone." She strolled off the porch.

"Sh…she spoke with Thor?" Christian blurted when he could find his voice again.

"Oh, Christian," sighed Leslie. "I can't believe you're still so amazed. You know, I still remember you referring to Teppo's death…calling it, and I quote, 'your husband's trouble with that bit of Finnish mythology', unquote. How on earth could you think that had something to do with a Mafia hit, or whatever it was?"

Christian gave Roarke a "please help me" look, but Roarke shrugged. "I seem to recall telling you myself, quite directly, that Teppo had been killed by an ancient Finnish god, and you never batted an eyelash. I thought perhaps it meant that you could take such things in stride, as only an extreme few can do. What did you tell Leslie yesterday?"

Helplessly Christian said, "I told her then, and I repeat now, I thought you were both referring to some sort of organized-crime figurehead." He caught the enormously-amused glances Roarke and Leslie exchanged and added defensively, "Well, it was the only explanation I could think of, and I didn't want to come across as some ignorant fool who couldn't accept what seemed perfectly normal to you!"

Leslie and Roarke both burst out laughing, and she tipped forward and kissed Christian soundly. "Okay, okay, I'll let you off the hook, my love. I have to give you a lot of credit for trying." She hugged him, and he returned her embrace, finally beginning to laugh himself. "Let's have some breakfast," she suggested, and they all took seats.

They were served by a subdued and completely silent Mariki, who only gave a nod when she was spoken to and wheeled her cart away without looking directly at anyone. "She seems a little beaten down," Christian observed when she was gone.

"Let her be for now," Roarke said. "While I appreciate your concern for her, I'm afraid it's necessary for us to hurry the meal. There is quite a bit to do today."

After breakfast Roarke checked on e-mail and discovered a problem in the system that appeared to originate in the website, so Christian suddenly found himself delving into the problem. With the prince thus safely occupied and very busy, Roarke turned to his daughter and gave her some verbal instructions for the morning's duties. "And while you're at it, try to keep tabs on Athena," he said. "She's had much freer rein than I should have let her have, and I'd feel better if someone kept abreast of her progress. If there seems to be any serious trouble, come and get me. I'll be here until about lunchtime."

Leslie nodded. "Okay, Father. I just hope I can find her." She detoured long enough to distract Christian from the computer problems with a goodbye kiss, then tossed a cheery wave at Roarke and left the house, little knowing what she was going to encounter.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- March 26, 2000

She found Athena in her temple, still blessing a long line of people; this time she had a little company, though. Another lovely, lithe blonde had joined the goddess and was chatting conversationally with her, in what must have been Greek since Leslie couldn't understand a word of it. Athena spied Leslie and stopped short. "Temple is closed," she announced. "Be blessed and go well, all." The crowd reluctantly dispersed, and Leslie waded upstream through departing groups of people to get to their guest.

"How's business?" she asked.

"I'm beginning to realize what Roarke meant yesterday when he told me this might not be what I expected," Athena admitted, clearly with great reluctance. "I've spent this entire weekend trying to prove myself to my potential followers. Blessings, material requests, spectacular storms…" Leslie cleared her throat, the memory of hers and Christian's sweet interlude from the night before teasing her, and Athena gave her an odd look. "Something wrong, my dear child?"

Leslie focused on her with some effort and said, "I wish you'd told me about that storm in advance. I'm terrified of the things. It's a phobia with me, actually."

Athena's eyes widened. "Oh dear, I truly am sorry. I wish I had known." Then she grinned. "But it doesn't look to me as if you suffered much. Thor told me where your Christian was when he was reciting that poem of his." Leslie blushed, and Athena and her companion both laughed. "By the way, Leslie, this is Hera. Hera, this is Roarke's daughter, Leslie Hamilton. She's his assistant. That prince I was telling you about is engaged to her."

Hera looked quite surprised. "How can that be?" she asked. "The prince is already married. I should know; I'm the goddess of marriage."

Leslie went ramrod-straight with excitement and hope. "You are? Can you maybe do something about Christian's marriage? We've been waiting for three and a half years, and you can't believe how frustrating it is."

Hera took in Leslie's pleading expression and smiled. "Well, my dear child, before I answer that, I wish to make a request of you. Athena tells me she's had all she can stand of twentieth-century worship, and she wants to speak to Roarke. And as it happens, so do I. Will you take us to him?"

"Of course," Leslie agreed immediately, her heart pounding with crazy hope. Leading the two goddesses on the trek back to the main house, she tried to argue herself out of it, but after so much waiting and frustration, the possibilities were just too sweet to ignore.

Christian was still tinkering with the computer and Roarke was on the phone when Leslie, Athena and Hera came in through the French shutters; Hera scrutinized the oblivious Christian at leisurely length while Roarke, seeing them come in, ended the call as quickly as he politely could. "Good morning, ladies," he said, getting a good look at Hera. "Hera, it's been much too long! Welcome to my island."

"Roarke! How wonderful to see you," Hera said, attention torn from Christian at last. "So this is your island, then! How did you ever find this place? It must be the loveliest spot on earth. I think I'm jealous." She grinned, and Roarke chuckled.

"Your sentiments are deeply appreciated. So tell me, ladies, what may I do for you?" Roarke inquired.

Hera and Athena took seats while Leslie, unable to resist letting her attention wander for a moment to Christian (who was still too absorbed to notice), made her way around the desk to stand beside Roarke. Hera deferred to Athena. "You first, Athena. We may as well do this in the proper order."

Athena nodded and focused on Roarke. "I know this is going to be an unusual request, but hear me out before you say anything. You were right yesterday about my followers. I don't know about being a cult, but I've learned that I don't like the twentieth-century form of worship. Everyone I've seen has asked me for something. Riches, precious things, big houses, fast cars, fame, notoriety, beauty, and 'significant others'." She shot Leslie an amused look as she said the last phrase, and Leslie grinned.

"In other words, there has been no worship for its own sake?" Roarke asked. "All you've encountered is demands for material things?"

"Yes," Athena said. "So what I'd like to do is to transfer what remains of my fantasy to Hera here. She doesn't quite believe that I'm disillusioned, and wants to find out for herself."

"Wait a minute," Leslie broke in. "Ma'am, you were there with Athena when she was blessing all those people a little while ago, and you saw it firsthand for yourself. Are you really sure you want to do this—assuming Father gives his okay?"

Hera nodded firmly. "I have some lessons to impart," she announced. "As you know, Roarke, I'm the goddess of marriage. And the twentieth century has been absolute, utter _murder_ on the institution! It's positively being massacred! Perhaps this isn't something you normally do, Roarke, but Athena is willing to turn over her fantasy to me, and I want the opportunity to give some people an earful. Mickey Rooney and Elizabeth Taylor come to mind…"

Roarke and Leslie glanced merrily at each other. "Well," Roarke said indulgently, "I must admit I have no idea how much you feel you can accomplish; but you are certainly welcome to try. By all means, Hera, you may take over the remainder of Athena's fantasy. And I wish you luck."

"Thank you, Roarke," Hera said and looked at Leslie, whose expression had gone bright with childlike hope again. "Now, then, my dear girl, what's your request?"

"Christian's trapped in an arranged marriage," Leslie began and explained the whole situation in a headlong rush of words that made Hera blink and Roarke stare at her with rising amusement, slowly shaking his head now and then. Even Christian was distracted from his work and watched her in open-mouthed surprise at the sheer speed of her torrent of words.

When Leslie finally finished, Hera dropped heavily back in her chair and blew out her breath. "Dear me, what a situation! I don't know, my dear, I'm afraid I have very little influence on that."

"Then what was the point of taking over Athena's fantasy?" asked Roarke, genuinely puzzled.

"Oh, I don't expect to actually be able to change anything," Hera said, flapping a hand. "As I said, I just want to blast some people for abusing the institution. Leslie, my dear girl, as much as I hate to disappoint you, I really can't do anything for you. Christian's married. If he weren't, there might be a chance."

"What about Marina, then?" Christian asked. "Can't you dissolve the marriage?"

"No…you're in Norse territory," Hera said. "The Norse gods would—"

"We know all about that," Leslie said with a sigh.

Christian, though, pressed forward. "Marina's not a Norsewoman. She comes from Italy, and whenever our marriage is finally dissolved, she's going back. Does that help?"

"Unfortunately, no…because that belongs to the Roman gods," Hera explained, rolling her eyes in Roarke's direction. "And if you thought the Norse gods were territorial…oh dear, the Roman ones are downright impossible. Personally I think it's leftover bitterness from the fall of the Roman Empire."

"So there's really nothing you can do at all?" Leslie asked, despair finally supplanting the last of her hope. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and Christian hastened across the room and hugged her. Hera and Athena watched with mournful empathy as she buried her face in his shoulder and he sighed softly, closing his own eyes.

"It's been a long wait for them," Roarke told the two goddesses. "Christian has been here for ten weeks or so to open a branch of his business, and it appears to me that my daughter has become too accustomed to his presence here." His tone was kind, though, and he reached out and stroked Leslie's hair a few times. "I appreciate your taking the time to listen to her, at any rate. Oh…and by the way, Hera, I truly don't know what you can do about Mickey Rooney and Elizabeth Taylor. But there is no doubt in my mind that you'll find more than enough candidates to, uh, teach a lesson to, as I believe you put it."

"Quite so," Hera agreed. "I really did want to get my hooks into those two actors, though. Nine marriages apiece. I simply don't understand it. Perhaps Liz just enjoys wearing wedding dresses, but I can't come up with any explanation for Mickey." She arose and went to Christian and Leslie, placing one hand on Christian's shoulder and the other on Leslie's, and when she had their attention she smiled at them. "Believe me, I truly feel for the two of you. If it were in my power, I'd certainly do something right away. Actually, I'd refer you to Aphrodite, in case she could find a loophole, but she's in therapy." She caught Roarke's startled look. "She was here for a fantasy 20 years ago or so," she said. "Something about being the perfect woman for a man who wanted nothing less than the very best. She was the most bitter of us all about losing status to these modern religions, and we couldn't stop her from trying to wreak havoc with those poor mortals you were hosting. When she returned, we sent her to the very best shrink we could possibly find."

"Who?" asked Leslie curiously.

"Freud, of course," Hera said. "She's been with him for simply ages, and we haven't seen her since that fantasy. Oh, Roarke, don't look at me like that. Zeus did it all, although I have absolutely no idea how. Something about being on another plane." She shrugged and refocused on Leslie and Christian. "If it helps any, we're on good terms with Thor and a few others. Perhaps we can arrange to have your brother zapped…"

Christian grinned, squeezing Leslie closer. "I appreciate the sentiment, and it's more tempting than it really should be. Perhaps another time, but thank you." He turned to Leslie. "Don't worry, my darling, it's only another phase in the wait. We gave it the best try we could. If another opportunity comes along, then by all means, jump at it."

"That goes without saying," said Leslie, giving Hera a wistful look. "I'm curious about something. Our guests are primarily American, and if you and the Roman and Norse gods have Europe all carved up into 'my side' and 'your side', what about the states, where nobody has any jurisdiction?"

"Well, actually, the US and Canada are gray areas," Hera said, "because of worldwide immigration. We have to check into the ancestral backgrounds of anyone we want to help or harm in those countries." She peered at Leslie. "Are you a native of the US?"

Leslie nodded. "I was born in Connecticut."

"Oh goodness…New England. The grayest area of them all. Those Puritans, you know…and the witch trials. Since they believed in witchcraft along with their one supreme god, it makes the whole situation about as clear as a bucket of dirt. Well, what sort of ancestry do you have?"

"Primarily Irish and English, and about a quarter Swedish through my maternal grandmother," Leslie said.

Hera groaned and shook her head. "My dear child, you're a walking gray area yourself. The British Isles have always been the murkiest part of Europe. The only saving grace I see here is that bit of Swede you have in you. That would put you under the Norse jurisdiction, which once again lets me out and requires me to refer you both to them. Of course," she mumbled, something else apparently occurring to her, "you're here on Fantasy Island, which I believe sits in the orbit of a raft of Polynesian gods we've never met. They'd have to hash it out with the Norse folks in your case…" Hera caught herself and refocused. "I do apologize, my dear girl. I'd like very much to help you out, you being Roarke's daughter, and Roarke being such a dear friend to us all. All I can do is to hope that your wait is as short as possible."

"We appreciate it," Leslie said softly, and Christian gave her another squeeze, smiling his thanks at Hera.

Roarke made a point of checking his gold watch. "If you wish to take advantage of what remains of Athena's fantasy, Hera, I suggest you delay no longer. Time is running short, and I will be forced to see to it that the entire arrangement ends this evening."

"Oh, of course," Hera exclaimed. "Athena, my dear, I thank you most kindly, and you also, Roarke. See you later!" She scrambled out of the house, clearly on a mission.

"Don't you think you'd better keep tabs on her, Leslie?" Roarke said pointedly.

"Oh dear," murmured Leslie, and stole two quick seconds to give Christian a hasty kiss before flying out of the house behind Hera. Christian grinned, watching her go.

"I'd better get back to that computer glitch anyway," he said. "Well, it was a good idea." He returned to the bug he was trying to work out.

Athena smiled. "I would have told Hera good luck if she had stayed long enough to listen," she said and shrugged. "Ah well. I thank you for the opportunity, Roarke…but I guess there's something to be said for retirement after all. Maybe I'll start up a crocheting class or something back on Olympus. Well, farewell, and go well, Roarke. Till we meet again." She returned Roarke's smile and raised her arms with a flourish, disappearing in a bright flash of golden light.

"Very distracting," Christian murmured humorously from the computer. "But you know, Mr. Roarke, I was expecting her to leave that way. Maybe I'm getting used to all this apparent insanity." He acknowledged Roarke's laugh with a wide grin and went back to work.


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- March 26, 2000

By Sunday afternoon Leslie was exhausted from all her running around after Hera, and stumbled into the study after the seemingly tireless goddess. Hera regarded Roarke with a mixture of emotions, chief among which was frustration. While Leslie collapsed into a chair and slumped low with her arms dangling limply over the sides, Hera said, "I begin to understand your caveat, Roarke."

Roarke squelched a smile; Leslie saw it, but Hera seemed to have missed it. "Indeed?" he said.

"Indeed and then some. I cornered fourteen couples who were having arguments and told them to really think about what they were saying. I ran into six more couples actively threatening divorce and five others who had filed papers. And I beat some sense into two womanizers and a fickle floozy. So it's been a very long day for me…but I fear all my efforts have gone for naught."

"Which," said Leslie tiredly from her chair, "would turn out to be the biggest waste I ever witnessed."

"I am terribly sorry, Hera," said Roarke with sympathy. "I understand your distress, believe me. I myself have found it necessary to grant a few divorces right here on my very own island, and each time I find it a very sorrowful occasion. Woud that you could have been here at the time to try to make these couples see reason."

Hera looked offended. "Really, Roarke, you too? This divorce mania is simply out of control. It makes an absolute mockery of my specialty. I'm sure no other god or goddess is as badly abused as I. If it were possible, I'd leap from Olympus in my despair, but I can't. Pesky immortality."

"I _am_ sorry, Hera," Roarke said again. "But I find myself wondering whether you've done any follow-up. If you dragged poor Leslie all over the island on a whirlwind tour of feuding couples, how do you know whether any of them considered your advice?"

Hera planted her fists on her hips and eyed him reproachfully. "Well, Roarke, that's your fault. You told me you'll have to end my fantasy this evening. How can you expect me to accomplish very much in such a short time span? Follow-up is quite out of the question, unless you extend the fantasy, or I get lucky and some of these couples seek me out."

Roarke noticed the amused grin on Leslie's face and gave her a look that fazed her not a bit. "Perhaps I could be persuaded to extend the fantasy to midnight, but I can't continue it beyond that. You understand."

"No, I confess I don't, but very well," Hera acceded crossly. "Now maybe, in your infinite knowledge, you might tell me where I can find all the people I contacted today."

Leslie spoke up, "You're likely to find them at the hotel. If you feel like a nice dinner, Chef Miyamoto can get you set up, and maybe some of those couples will find you. I recognized most of them as being vacationers without fantasies, maybe trying to recapture their happiness."

"Good advice, Leslie," Roarke said approvingly. "Then, by all means, Hera, good luck."

Hera threw her hands into the air in a gesture of futility and left the house. Roarke regarded Leslie with amused interest and remarked, "It seems you got in your share of exercise today."

"That's an understatement," said Leslie, evoking a soft chuckle from him. She glanced around the room and realized Roarke had been there alone. "Where's Christian?"

"Conducting more interviews," said Roarke. "If you'd like, you might go into town and let him know dinner will be served in about half an hour. He's at his office."

Leslie pushed herself out of the chair and cast a wary glance in the direction of the kitchen. "What's Mariki serving tonight?"

Roarke grinned. "I made her promise to refrain from adding any arsenic to Christian's food," he kidded.

Leslie rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Father. I think the bigger worry here should be over someone putting arsenic in _her_ food, if you get my drift."

"Now, Leslie," Roarke admonished. "Perhaps you should consider giving Mariki the benefit of the doubt. She has been on her very best behavior since that banana incident yesterday. I believe she's afraid to even speak to you."

"She should be," said Leslie heatedly. "There's such a thing as being too protective. I wish she and Kono had had kids. She needs someone else to mother."

"They did have children," said Roarke, straight-faced. "Ten of them."

She stared at him for a very long moment, her eyes filled with doubt; then she shook her head. "I don't believe it for one second," she announced and departed, leaving behind a broadly grinning Roarke.

Leslie found Christian just winding up an interview and paused unobtrusively near the entrance, watching Christian shake hands with the latest applicant. The man thanked Christian rather profusely and started for the door, at which point he made a motion as of tipping a hat. "Hello, Miss Leslie, good to see you."

She recognized him. "Mateo! It's been a while."

Mateo nodded a little sheepishly. "Well, you remember that accident I had that forced me to quit my job," he said. "The prince has just very graciously hired me as the manager of his branch office here. I can walk back and forth to work and not have to worry about another problem."

Leslie smiled. "We'll miss you, Mateo, but I'm glad you were able to get in here. I wish you the best."

"Thank you, Miss Leslie," said Mateo and left. She watched him go while Christian came up to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"You seem to know him," Christian observed. "He said an accident forced him to quit, but I didn't realize he was working for Mr. Roarke. What's the story?"

"Mateo's a native," Leslie said. "He's actually only a year or so older than I am. He was one of our regular drivers for years. Then last year he developed narcolepsy without warning—there was no hint of it till he fell asleep at the wheel of a utility vehicle and rammed a tree with it. The vehicle was totaled and Mateo was in the hospital for almost three months. He's lucky to be alive. But he came to us and quit his job because he was afraid he might eventually hurt one of us."

"I see," said Christian. "Was there no one he could rely on? Family who could have helped him?"

"Mateo's parents are both dead and he's never been married," Leslie said. "He lives by himself about midway down the island from here. He's a very nice guy and was one of our most dependable and hard-working employees. I'm glad you hired him, my love." She turned in his embrace and smiled up at him. "If you're done here, Father says dinner'll be ready shortly."

Christian, looking suddenly apprehensive, demurred, "Maybe I'd better eat at the hotel."

Leslie laughed. "I can't blame you, but Father seems to think Mariki's been well and truly put in her place. I guess we'll just have to take our chances, since I don't want him eating all alone at home."

Reluctantly Christian gave in. "All right, if only to save Mr. Roarke." Leslie grinned and slipped out, waiting for him to lock up before taking his hand and leading him to the jeep she had parked nearby. He was quiet all the way back, looking thoughtful and a little pensive, and Leslie wondered uneasily what was on his mind. He smiled at her when they reached the main house and wrapped an arm around her waist on their way to the table, but still didn't speak.

Not till Mariki had come out with the food did he clear his throat and say, "Well…I've done all the hiring I can do here. I have one more candidate that I'll probably hire, but the interview will be in Lilla Jordsö…so I'm going to have to go home in a few days, once I've shown Mateo the ropes."

Leslie went still and stared at him, her stomach free-falling. Roarke glanced at her, then said, "I see…we'll be sorry to see you go, Christian."

Just then Mariki set a dish on the table, and Leslie's attention shifted. "Well, there might be someone here who won't be."

Her tone made Mariki stop cold and close her eyes. "Excuse me," the cook said after a moment. "I have something for Prince Christian." She headed for the kitchen, with Leslie's suspicious eyes on her.

Christian resettled himself in his chair and remarked a little uneasily, "Well, I suppose this is the acid test. I deliberately waited to announce my departure until Mariki came out here, because I don't feel right about all this discord and I thought she would be happy to know I'm leaving."

"It's Mariki's fault, not yours," Leslie said flatly. "Christian, honey, I'm not certain she isn't going to do something else—"

"I've already mentioned there'll be no arsenic," Roarke teased, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "What are you so frightened of?"

"Hemlock," said Christian right on cue, and both Roarke and Leslie burst into laughter despite themselves.

A minute later Mariki returned with a small plate that she set in front of Christian. "This was meant to be dessert, but I thought it better to make a peace offering with it."

"What is it?" asked Leslie.

"Chocolate-cinnamon cake with vanilla-almond glaze," Mariki replied, apparently unwilling or unable to meet anyone's gaze. "I found the recipe online when I…uh, went looking for specialties from Prince Christian's country."

Roarke looked quite surprised; Leslie's mouth dropped open, and Christian did a double-take. "You went to all that trouble just for me?" he asked.

"I hope it's clean," said Leslie, still not quite trusting the cook after her long-standing grudge against Christian. "Mariki, really, this looks a little convenient…"

"Leslie," Roarke said reprovingly.

But Mariki looked up then and said, "Don't bother, sir. I perfectly understand her skepticism. Miss Leslie, all I can do is appeal to your sense of fair play. I've been watching you around Prince Christian all weekend since you caught my last dirty trick, and I have to admit, I've never seen you happier than when you're with him." She cleared her throat, shifted her weight and added with great reluctance, "Not only that, but Kono nearly garroted me when he found out I'd gotten into his moonshine stash."

Loud snickers broke out of Christian and Leslie at that, and in seconds they'd all broken down laughing, even Mariki. "Tell me, just how much did you put in Christian's banana yesterday, if Kono noticed there was some missing?" Leslie wanted to know.

Mariki shrugged, turning red. "About half a jug. And this is a jug." She held her hands about six inches apart, one over the other. "It's pretty potent."

"Yes, I learned that yesterday," said Christian, dryly but good-naturedly. "Mariki, let me assure you that it would be impossible for me to hurt Leslie. I found out the hard way that it hurts me just as much, if not more, when I do something like that. My marriage wasn't my fault, but trying to let Leslie go was solely my mistake and no one else's. I would die without her—it's as simple as that. So if you could find it in your heart to forgive and forget, I'll take the spiked banana in stride. I'll probably even laugh about it someday."

Mariki grinned broadly with relief. "Done, Your Highness." She stuck out her hand and shook with Christian, then cast a tentative glance at Leslie, who smiled.

"Thank you, Mariki," she said softly.

Roarke smiled with satisfaction and some relief of his own. "Peace around here at last," he said. "Now, shall we eat?" They laughed again and tucked into the meal.


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- March 27, 2000

Hera appeared all of a very startling sudden in the study that morning just before Roarke and Leslie were about to leave for the plane dock. "Surprise," she said apologetically when they both flinched back. "Excuse me for that—I didn't realize you were leaving. I just wanted to thank you for Athena's and my shared fantasy."

"Even though you both found out it was a bust?" asked Leslie curiously.

"Even then," said Hera. "Actually, my dear child, it might have been less of a 'bust', as you call it, than it seems. Four couples sought me out last evening at the hotel and admitted that they'd been threatening divorce in the heat of spirited arguments, and told me they're going to work things out. And three more have actually asked for my help."

"That's wonderful, Hera," said Roarke, smiling.

"I think I'll open up a marriage-counseling service," Hera mused, her face lighting with the thought as it grew on her. "Yes—that's it! No more boredom for me! So, young lady, perhaps this fantasy was a success after all. If Athena's nice to me, I might even employ her as my secretary. Well, I'm off, then. Many thanks, Roarke, and may you and your daughter both go well. Till later." She nodded at them and swept her arms up, then disappeared.

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other. "So Hera took Athena's fantasy and got more out of it than Athena did," Leslie summarized with a grin. "I guess one out of two isn't bad, huh, Father?"

"So it seems," Roarke agreed, amused. "We'd better hurry or we'll be late for the plane's departure."

§ § § -- March 29, 2000

Lunch on Wednesday was a decidedly desultory affair. Christian was packed and ready to catch the one-o'clock charter for the first of five flights back to Lilla Jordsö, going via Honolulu, Los Angeles, New York and London. Neither he nor Leslie was in much of a talking mood, and Roarke watched the pair surreptitiously while they all ate.

Finally Christian shook his head and pushed his plate aside. "If I get hungry somewhere along the way, I'll pick up something at one of the airports," he said. "At the moment I just don't have any appetite. Don't tell Mariki—our truce is fragile enough."

His attempt at humor met with a quiet chuckle from Roarke and a halfhearted smile from Leslie. Christian smiled back at her and sat back in his chair, letting his gaze meander across the scenery beyond the veranda and beginning to look wistful. "It will be a few more weeks before spring really arrives back home," he observed to no one in particular. "When I'm shivering in my flat, I'll call back the memory of this beautiful island and the warmth and sunshine here."

Leslie had only one question. "When are you coming back?" she wanted to know.

This time Christian's smile was genuine. "Ah yes—I meant to tell you about that. I must admit I've been neglecting the parent office, even with Jörgen's capable supervision; but I hope to return in six or eight months. Does that suit you?"

Leslie tried to smile, but failed miserably. "It seems so far away," she said mournfully.

Roarke put down his fork and leaned forward a bit. "Leslie, you must understand that it's no easier for Christian than for you. And because his home is so far from here, he finds it difficult to get between the two locales. In spite of everything, my child, the current situation dictates that his primary life be in Lilla Jordsö right now, and there simply isn't any way to change that," he told her.

"It won't seem so long, my Leslie Rose," Christian added hopefully. "You have your job that you love, and your friends to see you through. And don't forget, we're always in touch—only an e-mail apart at any moment."

"I know," Leslie sighed, "I'm acting like a spoiled-brat child, aren't I? I know it probably won't seem that long. But you know, Christian, you've never yet been with me on my birthday—nor have we been together on yours either. I want to be with you, that's all. I want to spend every May 6 and June 25 with you, and every Christmas and New Year's, and every other holiday…every single day with you."

Christian regarded her with a tiny smile and wrapped his hand around hers. "What I wouldn't give for that privilege as well. I hate the waiting as much as you do, but just now there's no alternative." He paused long enough for his expression to change as something occurred to him. "We've been together under the same roof for two and a half months—even if not in the same bed—but otherwise constantly together, so that we've discovered foibles and quirks and faults in each other that will affect our lives together. Knowing that I never learned to make a bed, and get imperial when I'm drunk, and hate avocados and strawberries, and become utterly unaware of the entire world when I'm trying to fix a computer problem, and absolutely _must_ have the cap on my toothpaste…I wonder, are you so sure you want to be married to me, now that you've learned all that?"

Leslie grinned suddenly and said, "As much as I've been wondering if you still want me for your wife now that you know I'm terrified of thunderstorms, and can't stand olives, and have a quick temper, and need to have everything in a certain place. But I have to have the cap on my toothpaste too, so there's a good place to start."

They all laughed, and Roarke said warmly, "I think you two will be just fine. The plane will be departing soon—Leslie, quickly, get Christian a pass to take with him for the next time he returns."

Fifteen minutes later, Christian and Leslie clung to each other like a pair of barnacles, neither willing to be the first to break the embrace. "You'll have to let go sometime," Roarke pointed out humorously. "Perhaps the time apart will be good for you. Leslie is too easily distracted lately."

Christian smirked and Leslie rolled her eyes. "Thanks loads, Father," she said, making Roarke laugh.

Christian stepped back from Leslie for a moment and shook hands with Roarke. "I can't possibly thank you enough for your stunningly generous and gracious hospitality across these ten weeks," he said. "You did far more for me than you had to, and you have my utmost gratitude."

"You are always welcome, Christian," Roarke told him, smiling. "I'll leave you and Leslie to make your farewells in private. Travel safely."

He stepped aside and Christian turned to Leslie, wincing slightly when he saw the tears standing in her eyes. "Don't cry, my Leslie Rose," he pleaded softly. "You know how it pains me to see you cry. Try to smile for me."

Leslie shrugged and wrapped her arms around him instead, nestling her head on his shoulder and breathing in the familiar scent that was uniquely Christian. "It's just that…well, I miss you already," she said, closing her eyes to fill her other senses.

She felt Christian's arms close around her and tried to take mental note of every detail of the moment—his warmth surrounding her; the curiously appealing mix of soap and his rare cologne and the man himself that would forever instantly identify him to her even if she were blind and deaf; the sounds of his voice as he spoke to her and of its resonance into her body while she stood against him. "I feel less bereft without you," he said, "because I know I'll be returning to you, and I've learned the hard way to share your faith that someday we'll be together forever. When I'm home in my empty bed, my darling, do you know that I fall asleep daydreaming that you're there lying by my side? It's how I end every day—thinking of you. And each day we get through is a day closer to joining our lives at last." He lifted her chin and she opened her eyes to meet his gaze; gently he settled a soft kiss on her lips. "I know you've heard me say it before, but it's still true. I love you, my Leslie Rose, and I'll love you until death and beyond." Christian kissed her again, deeply and thoroughly until she'd grown breathless, then set her back from him and visibly braced himself. "Until I return…"

He'd taken no more than four or five steps to the dock when she called, "Christian—" He stopped and turned to her with a quizzical look on his face, and she drew in a deep breath and spoke her carefully rehearsed words in _jordisk-svenska_. _"Jag älskar dig, Christian, med hela hjärtet och i hela livet." I love you, Christian, with all my heart and for all my life._

Unexpectedly his eyes filled with tears and one spilled over. He came back long enough to hug her fiercely and murmur in a choked whisper, "I love you so much…" She had no chance to respond before he broke abruptly away and half ran up the dock. Leslie watched him go, tears flowing freely, but a small smile on her face. She was grateful for Roarke's quiet support when he came to her and slipped a comforting arm around her.

§ § § -- Lilla Jordsö

As usual, there was an official car waiting for Christian at the airport. He settled into it, absently fingering the blue charter-plane pass Leslie had given him. His flights had gone in rapid succession with short layovers, unlike his mad-dash trip out, so that it was still the same day he had left. Late-afternoon shadows stretched across the roads, dappling the early-spring sunlight as the limo navigated the route to the castle. He checked his watch and wondered if Leslie might be awake yet.

"Why exactly does Arnulf want to see me?" Christian asked the driver when he got out under the portico.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but I don't know," said the driver apologetically. "His Majesty merely told me to bring you here."

Christian made a perplexed noise, shrugged to himself and handed the man a few bills. "Wait here for me, please," he requested and made his way into the castle. As he so often did, he thanked fate that he was born the youngest and didn't have to make his home in this gloomy architectural nightmare with its huge, drafty corridors and astronomical climate-control bills. Arnulf, a throwback to some of the earliest days of the country's monarchy, still lived entirely off taxes collected from the population, and in some ways Christian was financially better off than his brother.

He found Arnulf in his office; Marina was there too, and she nodded and winked at Christian, surprising him. Arnulf looked up, but not in time to see this, and gave his brother a frigid glare. "Why were you gone so long?"

Christian eyed him for a long moment, moving at some leisure to the only other chair and preparing to seat himself. "Greetings to you too, brother," he drawled sardonically.

"I didn't tell you to sit," Arnulf snapped.

Christian sat anyway. "I suppose you'll have me shot at sunrise for not waiting your permission to do that," he said, before glancing at Marina and snapping his fingers. "Oh, that's right, you can't. I'm your pawn in the amakarna trade, and you have to have me alive in order to ensure your supply."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, _lill'bror,"_ said Arnulf.

"What I _become_ is impatient," said Christian sharply, sitting up and leaning forward. "What do you want with me, Arnulf? You may as well stop trying to intimidate me. I lost my fear of you before I started school as a child."

Arnulf sighed as though greatly put-upon. "Christian, you've been gone for weeks," he said. "The only person you bothered to tell was Marina, and she has been pining in your absence." This made Christian and Marina exchange astonished glances; the oblivious king continued, "Where were you all this time? You can't tell me it was official business."

"It was," Christian said calmly, sitting back again. "My business has been doing very well, and I decided to open a satellite office. It was necessary to find a location and hire a staff, and these things take a great deal of time."

"That much of it?" demanded Arnulf skeptically.

Christian grew exasperated again. "Arnulf, you're a king—a very insular king. You've never had to earn your own living, and you have absolutely no idea whatsoever of the requirements and intricacies of running a business. Who are you to question me about why it takes this much time to do this or that? I really don't understand you; you've never given me much credit for anything beyond being a good little puppet who takes on the menial royal duties you think are beneath you. You told me I'd get not an _öre_ from the royal coffers; but when I try to nurture my company to assure an income for myself, you begrudge me the effort I need to make. Do you think I have a money tree growing under my bed? And besides, what difference does it make to you what I do or where I go? You wouldn't care, I suspect, if it weren't for that miserable spice you can't live without."

Arnulf had been turning quite red in the face, but before he had a chance to commence with pitching a fit, Marina unexpectedly leaped to Christian's defense. "Not a word," she warned, visibly shocking Arnulf. "Ever since you and my father conspired to rob Christian and me of the happiness we had found in our love for others, I've been watching you. You treat almost everyone coldly, but you seem to reserve special venom for Christian. He can't take a step or say a word that meets with your approval, unless the step is in a direction you pointed him in or the words are those you put in his mouth. You expect him to support me financially, but you complain about the time he invests doing so. He brought back your runaway daughter almost three months ago, and there was never a word of thanks from you. Tell me, Arnulf, do you hate Christian so? And if you do, why?"

"I don't hate him—he's my brother," said Arnulf, his voice stunned, as if he couldn't get his mind around the idea that Marina was scolding him like this.

"You could have fooled me," Christian muttered.

"Then you resent him," Marina said before Arnulf could respond to that. "You don't treat any of your other family as abominably as you do Christian. To you, he's a toy to be played with when you're in the mood, and to be thrown in the corner to await your leisure when you aren't. You manipulate his life and expect him not only to accept it, but to welcome it and beg for more." She paused to take a couple of deep breaths, narrowing her eyes at Arnulf and freezing him with a glare that made Christian begin to grin. "Well," she went on, "since you refuse to listen to the truth from Christian, then perhaps you'll be more receptive to hearing it from me, and it might actually sink into that kilometer-thick skull of yours. Christian and I are _not_ in love, Arnulf. I haven't been pining away for him, nor has he for me. I have a man back in Italy whom I love deeply; Christian is also very much in love with another woman. There will be a day, I am certain, when this situation will change somehow, and you and my father will no longer have the iron control over our lives that you do now; and we will both be free to join our true loves and embark on the lives we deserve with them. And one other thing: you've been asking…no, demanding that we have a child. That will never happen, Arnulf. I will not be the mother of Christian's children, and he will not be the father of mine. As long as Christian and I are trapped in this marital farce you created, we shall both remain childless. And that is the final, official word in this matter." She arose, looking very regal in her righteous wrath. "Because of you, we are forced to live together; but you cannot dictate the vagaries or circumstances of that life. You will refrain from any further interference in our lives or our joke of a marriage. Come, Christian, let's go home."

Automatically Christian followed her out, trying to swallow back his laughter. Somehow he succeeded till they were in the limo on their way to the city; then he gave full voice to his merriment. "Marina, that was simply magnificent!" he exclaimed gleefully. "I didn't know you had it in you."

She was grinning broadly. "Did you see the look on his face?" she chortled. "I think it will be the middle of the night before he recovers from the shock of seeing his docile little sister-in-law laying down an ultimatum to him." They sat and let their laughter play itself out; then she asked, "So how did you find Fantasy Island? And since you were away so long, I can only assume that your reconciliation with Leslie was a great success."

"So it was," Christian said cheerfully. "Which reminds me, I need to send her a message as soon as we reach home. I thank you for your words on our behalf, Marina. I don't know if they'll make life with my brother any easier, but at least now he knows the truth of everything." He could already imagine Leslie's delighted laughter over the story he planned to tell her…and half an hour later, that's just what she did.  
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**A/N:** _I've really enjoyed everyone's feedback on this and the previous two stories; I have such a wonderful time writing about Christian and Leslie that sometimes it's hard to return to the proper_ Fantasy Island _format! But that's what I'll be doing for a while, beginning in the next story. Special thanks as always to Harry2, jtbwriter and Kyryn…and welcome back, BishopT!_


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